


The Name of a Prayer: Psalterine

by Yuri_the_Eighth_Demoness



Series: Brushstrokes and Blind Eyes [2]
Category: Brushstrokes and Blind Eyes, Original Work
Genre: F/F, F/M, Five-Chapter Plot, Gen, Love Affair, Love Story, M/M, Multi, Original Fiction, Original work - Freeform, Other, Short Story, original short story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 08:31:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17936360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuri_the_Eighth_Demoness/pseuds/Yuri_the_Eighth_Demoness
Summary: Meet Psalterine, my feisty and very much unlikely heroin, a wraith born of strange circumstances she cannot really understand herself. In a world where power is usual and all she ever wanted was family.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I went on ahead and experimented with the story you are about to read here. This is basically a short for one of three main characters heavily involved in my Brushstrokes and Blind Eyes (BB) series, and depending on how things go with it, I say I might write the other two as well.
> 
> Originally posted to Pinterest 01/16/2019. Link: https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/656962664371385514/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice the [ Numbers ]. Pinterest comments are whack and don't post the comments following the order of posting, thus, so anyone who wanted to read it can read the works, it was numbered. I'm not removing them though, even if the story's been moved to AO3.
> 
> Also note that the chapters here are short. It's something I'm trying at the moment.

[1] The world existed for the first time when she was a child of four, her first recollection being smoke, embers, ashes...then faces. Faces which looked like her. Two others that, although she hadn’t really seen herself in the mirror just yet, she knew to be a family of hers. She felt it. And thus she’d reached out to them.

[2] She was in awe of the simple gesture, of having to feel the skin of the her brothers, as she looked at her own fingertips and noticed how dirty they were, marred with soot and stains that she likewise inevitably soiled them both with, worried now as she apologized.

[3] Was it raining? Or were those droplets her tears? She couldn’t tell. But the night was dyed in a shade of red, the colour of fire and agony she’d remember forever. There was that low crackle among the detritus in the background, then the sound of it all crashing. The house was actually on fire. Wait. Whose house? What house?

[4] And then she’d only heard his voice saying, “We’re alone.”

[5] She opened her mismatched eyes: one the shade of rose, the other, an aquamarine. It was the same old city. She’d been acquainted with it since a young girl and she had returned to it time and time again, over the course of at least a few years. Why? Because it was peaceful here. She rather liked the quiet rush here, far from the chaos of traffic and hussle common in other areas. But she felt admittedly lonely.

[6] On days like this when the rain was threatening to fall, prompting the city’s dear patrons to seek shelter under their hats and coats and umbrellas, she keeps reliving certain memories. Memories which, for some reason, cut short of details she knew to be important but were robbed from her by something. Ironically, that something likewise eludes her.

[7] Just like her only known secret of a family, both her brothers feeling more and more estranged from her with every day passing.

* * *

[8] They were six when those men in suits came to take their brother away. See Killian was very special. He could not see with his pale blue and pale red eyes but he could make moving art. Something these people said were a valuable asset, whatever that meant. She didn’t understand. But Killan Red seemed to and believed that, beyond his painting, what they were actually after was their twin’s other more special ability.

[9] He could see the future. And to know the future was something people would definitely pay for right?

[10] It didn’t sound great to her at all. Because that moment, the three of them had already been separated. Killan Red was trapped in that art collector’s house, in some dank vault no one could enter. While Killian she needed to leave at this orphanage because they couldn’t take care of him. She was somewhere between the two and acted as a bridge so they had some semblance of communication at least, that way they never lost each other.

[11] She too was special. She was the only one of them three who can travel the long distances. Annoyingly she cannot bring them both with her. Her unique skill was selfish, and was only kind to her…

[12] Which made her wonder on that day Killian left how far she had to go now? How can she hope to ever fill the gap when Fate seemed to be pushing them further and further away? She cried so much the night before that the blind of them also looked like he was about to sob as well but held it back. She knew he didn’t want to sadden her anymore than he was already doing.

[13] “It’s going to be fine,” Killian assured her, smiling despite his own reservations about the situation. In essence, he had no choice himself. “We’ll be fine.”

[14] How can he be so sure? He cannot even see their future no matter how he tried. But she just had to trust; that was all they could do. Perhaps this would be for his own good too.

[15] “Someday, we won’t need to be away from each other,” that was her promise, peeking through the open car window with no intent to say farewell. She will see him later and so entrusted to him one of her most treasured of possessions: a necklace with a small bottle pendant. Inside it contained a small fluttering soul, a butterfly he can use to call her to him.

[16] “Wherever you may be...I will find you…” she kissed his cheeks lovingly, before disappearing as he too vanished with that car into a life uncertain.

* * *

[17] A deep sigh like she had only started breathing. She woke up as if she’d been daydreaming, somewhat used now to the vividness of her memories when they’d invaded her mornings. And invaded her nights like it was doing now.

[18] Where was she again? Oh right. That old city with a view from where she stood outside the balcony of the flat she kept here. Young Miss Independent that’s made a living in the metro as the local midnight VJ for this radio station, admittedly having to fake some papers since she never really had any to begin with. She was a wraith, an existence whose origins are unknown even to herself.

[19] “I have around six hours left until my shift. What to do now…?” She couldn’t sleep. She didn’t want to on account of unpleasant dreams so, like what she always did at times, she engaged in a bit of people watching.

[20] Little did anyone know, but she could tell when someone was about to breathe their last. How that was even possible, she didn’t even understand completely, but she could see them stained a certain colour, like a motion picture of old, they would appear a shade paler than anyone else around them.

[21] At the moment, she was looking at a finely dressed man across the street. There he was having dinner al fresco with a few acquaintances. Rather boisterous person, a people-pleaser. Rather a glutton too, forking down as much meat as he could. That should be his last. At least he’ll die with a full belly.

* * *

[22] Her humour was utterly macabre that it was eccentric at times. And she’d been told once that, for a girl with such a pretty face, she could do with being less morbid. Yet who cared? Her life was too closely associated with death that it was normal. Seeing death happen before her heterochromatic eyes, commonplace. Like how she was now about to witness someone’s murder, trailing that man she earlier noticed.

[23] Human life is so utterly short, and people value it in so many different ways. She shares none such unless it involved her own or those of her siblings. Because in the end, she feels as if theirs had always been shorter. She doubts if she was ever born in the first place. Strange isn’t it?

* * *

[24] Walking barefoot under a light drizzle in nothing but this flimsy lingerie felt nice. Close to erotic how she was getting soaked by the building rain only little by little. She was a tad careless in her dress choices, but that really didn’t matter if one could make it from here to her bathtub in less than a second. She could walk around naked if she wanted, which she’d already done by the way.

[25] Not for right now. She was busy trailing that man from earlier. His colour was getting paler by the second even as he was so lively walking towards his car parked down an alley.

[26] “Soon…” she was counting down his minutes, doing a sensual little dance to a _reggaeton_ stuck in her head. She wants to play it as her first song later during work maybe? It was so catchy. As she heard his screams echo in the dark with rain suddenly pouring down upon this part of the city full force. It drenched her body, just as easily as it had drowned his pleas for mercy. Too late. 

[27] She had again witnessed a murder. But she wasn’t bothering with the cops. It was a moment that was likewise part of life. To live, to die. The endless cycle. She did want a closer look.

[28] In a blink, she fell into utter darkness only to feel her feet step out and into puddle. Filthy gutters and a filthy man now lying prostrate there as the rain attempted to wash away his blood down the sewers. He had the expression of the dead, eyes still open and mouth agape. His posture was like a crawling worm. Will he rot here or will they find him soon?

[29] Good question and she was making bets in her head. But more than that, she was looking for his soul wherever it had floated to, side-stepping that body with a giggle and her manners, “Excuse me” as she found his essence adrift, confused, just beyond her from the crime scene.

[30] When a person dies, it was either he died prepared or he didn’t. The souls of those that belonged in the latter category, they were the ones that lingered. They made the ghosts. “What was his wrongdoing this time?” she asked a shadow that was not quite a shadow she’d passed by.

[31] Said shadow responded in a cold yet seductive baritone of a voice, “Pedophilia. He’s a local politician that’s raped several boys. Mostly homeless stowaways he invites to his home, plays dress up with before subjecting them to torture while he films. Then he disposes of them in the river.”

[32] “I know the background is unimportant to you, unless it’s a Client Call,” she smiled. “It is a Client Call...and a personal pleasure,” he smiled in return, watching her pull a sizable enough jar from a dark area to the side of her while combing the fingers of her other hand through wet raven tresses. The rain was not letting up, but they could still manage the conversation.

[33] “Right,” she giggled. “I’m no fan of that sort of deviant either.”

[34] She popped the lid off the jar. To the sound of the rain -pit-pat-pit-pat- she materialized a very thin, crucifix-shaped dagger in her other hand, its thin, nearly gossamer chain blown about her by an unseen wind. This, her so-called Soul Blade, she used to slash that ghost with, preparing to consecrate it forever into the bottle.

* * *

[35] Never flirt with death, they say. Never let it cavort with you. But this here was the perfect example of just how amusing it was to play courtesan with disaster and actually win its unquestionable favours.

[36] She looked him up then down, him technically doing the same, but noting how she’d been only clad in but a very simple nightgown. It did hug her curves and the rain only made her all the more beautiful. Too beautiful in fact that he was jealous anyone would see.

[37] He took off his cloak then, and threw it around her form, hiding her under the fluid fabric as he took her into his arms. They were still at the crime scene and were not about to leave just yet. He wanted the opportunity to kiss her lips here then to stare into her oddly-shaded eyes. “Happy birthday, my butterfly,” were his words.

[38] “You’re six hours early,” she nuzzled, feeling the ripple of his muscles under the leather of his clothes. Mythical assassins and their darkness. She was drawn to his appeal really, looking more like the flower to his black.

[39] “I figured we’d celebrate early. Is there anything you want?” Good question. She was a spoilt gal and the being here was more or less indulging of her fancies. But he knows what she truly desires was something he cannot provide. “Surprise me,” was her simple request. “You always tend to every year, right?”

* * *

[40] // CHAPTER ONE END // For PSALTERINE whom celebrates her birthday today, and for whom this Original Character was named after. お誕生日おめでとうございます: O tanjōbi omedetō gozaimasu, precious one. ^-^


	2. Chapter 2

[Intro] Her night was interesting. Besides the visit from her man (to greet her in advance for her birthday no less), she had spent her shift discussing with people in her acclaimed Thursday segment Midnight Musings. Its talk format was the right fit to her spunky and very opinionated personality, allowing her to exchange views on certain topics with her listeners.

[1] It in fact was a hit on Radio Zero-713 right off the first episode. She believed it was among the biggest reasons of her success here too, despite her followers never seeing her face. She couldn’t show them. They’d know immediately she was different. Which only added to her mystery, some haters giving her the title of No Face in comparison to that monster that prowls the city’s nearby ruined district.

[2] But that’s fine. She was not offended. They just had to contend with her need to be anonymous. That aside, everything else was perfect.

[3] It was her day off today and she intends to use it by spoiling herself and taking it easy, lounging in the tub for nearly thirty minutes now, embraced by bubbles to her ears that she’d lazily popped with her fingertips. Coffee and brunch next after this luxury sounds about right.

[4] Maybe she’ll stop by that cafe across the street? Perhaps there was already news about the death of one of their patrons? The one whom she’d witnessed last night?

[5] Though she also anticipates there won’t be any. Given it was Yill who saw to the execution; he’d have cleaned up the area like nothing’s happened. If he let it slip, that only meant a Client demanded proof and wanted it public. She mused, “I never ask him how he does that.”

[6] She doesn’t really intend to know. It was taboo to talk about her man’s business, after all, to everyone, his status as a Myth was enough to inspire fear, and controversy he admits not befitting her existence. He wants her out of it. She will not be dirtied by his world.

[7] A quick rinse and she was done, combing her hair out as she leisurely picked a casual change of clothes. A good pair of heels and shorts. Yet needing to consider the rain last night and the puddles, she deemed her stilettos need not the torment. Sneakers then, to make it comfortable, and a light jacket, dolling up while listening to the news out of routine and habit.

[8] One of her fave online sites was always up-to-date with what’s happening across the globe. Today’s podcast was headlining about extreme weather changes. Again. Like how deserts were flooding while rivers and lakes dried up, altering the face of the planet once more...

[9] About a few decades ago, the power known as Ish-sha-ah or Sah was discovered. Since then, people were able to harness the force hidden within their very spiritual faculties to gain and use many skills otherwise godly. It also cursed the world in the process, leading to the creation of monsters, mass deaths and Nature becoming so extreme that it ran amok everywhere.

[10] Seas dissipated, forests died. The arctic continents melted. Deluvium after deluvium washed over the planet. It also led to the establishment of the so-called Societies that were basically made up of individuals of the same Sah specialties. They could be for the good or bad and often clashed. An exaggerated case being the current battle between the Bountry (or the known World Government) and the Rebels like those Death Gamers who refused to acknowledge their rule.

[11] Then there were also the Legends and Myths, of which her man Yill Gothvried was part of. He was amongst the untouchables. 

* * *

[12] The text message came right after she finished coincidentally, slipping on her rose-coloured shades and the jacket to next meet up with a friend. He knew just where to go. Her address here was no secret although Yill wouldn’t have approved this meeting. The man she was about to see. He was someone her boyfriend had issues with.

[13] “Caden!” “Good morning,” but just like always, he brought her flowers, standing up to pull out a seat so she could sit down. A real gentleman. “My apologies for calling you out here, but I wanted to personally greet you a happy birthday.” “Don’t worry about it. I had nothing much on schedule anyway. Except I am waiting for your brother.”

[14] The man’s expression soured a smidge, but then he pulled out a smile from all that insecurity. She could see the resemblance between the two, but since Caden here had all but severed his ties to the mythical family, he didn’t have the killer aura common to the other Gothvrieds she’s met before. He looked like the gorgeous musician that he is. That was the life he assumed outside of their clan’s age-old profession.

[15] “I didn’t know he was here. Was it work?” She already placed an order for a light brunch and some dark coffee, prompting him to do the same. When the waiter left, only then was she able to respond, “Apparently. He was here for a target.” “Like always. “Hopefully he finds time for you.”

[16] She knew where this conversation was going. She simply smiled at that, playing with a stray lock of her hair and twisting it around a finger, shaking her head slightly. Like previous, he knew her response to that as well. She need not say it. That he shouldn’t diss on his brother nor expect them to break up anytime soon. 

* * *

[17] She went shopping around the city’s posh boutique district as a gift to herself and was carrying at least a few bags by the end of the afternoon, immediately resigning herself onto this bench in the huge park which marked the centre of the metro, declining Caden’s offer of company. She’d rather he not be here when Yill arrives or else...

[18] Anyway, this was one of her favourite places to see people. It was where individuals from all walks of life congregated. The good, the evil. Bountry men in disguise, the Death Gamers incognito. They may have actually intersected along the many smaller garden paths here without really knowing. But she knew. She could tell who they were. Mainly because the atmosphere around them exuded a colour typical to them and she could read that.

[19] But it was a secret.

[20] She can’t really tell people about it. Also because she had promised /someone/ she wouldn’t, recalling those days when she was younger of how she’d end up camping outside this underground vault to talk to /him/ who was trapped within.

[21] [ Never tell anyone what you are ] at least from a portal she could hear his voice. She can’t use it to get him out however. She’d just hug her knees at how lonely that made her feel. [ I haven’t. You shouldn’t worry. ] Maybe later, she’ll visit them both. Just so she can greet them too, “Happy birthday” and hope they remember it was today. 

* * *

[22] The quarter before midnight again. Once her other colleagues have left, that was her cue to come, the only other person with a backdoor key and was permitted to be at the station during this time of the evening. The night guards know her face.

[23] She greets them by name and brings them food every now and then, or let them up the booth for a chat. After all, it was just going to be her, them, and the late shift engineer. The latter most always fell asleep at the controls as she worked her time away.

[24] “Eve missy,” the bearded giant of a man tipped his hat to her as she came in through the front door. He was about to lock up but, like always, waited for her first. “Good evening Sal. I have roast, rice and dessert in the pantry. You and Harry can help yourselves,” she smiled, passing him by on her way to the elevators.

[25] He had a soft spot for her. Everyone did. She was both a beauty and a kind soul. “Thanks be to that blessin’ miss. I be finishin’ ‘ere and radioin’ Harold. “You reckon dun need anythin’ up the booth?” “No. I got enough coffee already,” she giggled. “Thanks Sal.” 

* * *

[26] The booth was up the twenty-seventh floor, right corner, straight, then the farthest Eastward of the building. A small hall with pictures of achievements and program posters.

[27] She had her name on at least a dozen of them. But it was just her alias and a hidden face. No one knew who the /Good Bad Girl/ truly was. But that didn’t matter. She only needed the job for personal benefit.

[28] Pushing the door open, she need not peek into the maintenance room to tell the engineer was again sleeping. He usually would be snoozing by the time she came and never awoke until she was gone. This guy she barely knew. But that’s fine.

[29] She threw her bag upon the couch and pulled up a chair, cracking knuckles as she looked down the console. The previous VJ was more than generous to leave her a long queue of songs in anticipation of her arrival. She need only to drag and drop a few intervals.

[30] “Goooood evening Darklings!” went her opening spiel, lively and sweet, with the spunk that made people love her personality. “Welcome to your Friday obsession at midnight, with me, your Good Bad Girl Tylie.

[31] “I’ll be playing this week’s hits fresh from the charts starting with this track: ‘Love Ironic’ by Zen Explosion and Guns. Goes out to Jiles. Thanks for greeting me first on our official social media page. Quite early before everyone else so here’s your request!

[32] “Keep it tuned in to Zero-713, ‘Your music authority in the Metro’...” Mark. Done. And her day just started.

* * *

[33] 4 AM. Shift done and she, gone, making use of her backdoor privileges to slip out of the building unnoticed, trying to avoid using her Sah in places where there were cameras. Not wanting to leave evidence of her other capabilities. Killan Red said once it would be dangerous, though even until now she didn’t know /why/ that was. Everyone used Sah didn’t they?

[34] Well, whatever. She didn’t want to argue with him. They already bicker enough…

[35] It was almost the end of the day for her. She had but one place to stop by on her way home: the ruined district just outside of city limits. A place no normal denizen dared go to. But then she was not normal at all was she?

[36] Neither was her need. The weakness her Sah had which caused to postpone a very important visit to her brothers.

[37] Stepping out of a Void Portal, she glanced around from the spot where she was divulged. Last week, she covered the grounds west of here. This time, she was going south where a massacre occurred some few years back. Right before the sun rises and still with a slight darkness hiding her. Needless to say it was still dangerous here.

[38] This ‘No Man’s Land’ of a district was abandoned some decade ago before her coming to live in the city. It was cordoned behind an electric fence, raised with an eternal barrier, then just left to rot as the city built itself up anew at least a few kilometres away. Seemingly forgetting about the place, or was it because they just didn't know what to do with it? The reason why this part of the Metro was vacated in the first place.

[39] It was crawling with No Faces. Life sucking monsters that just began appearing out of nowhere one day. Too many people died that the Bountry had to be called in. What a joke.

[40] All they did was sweep this issue under a rug. As if setting up early warning devices for when these things escaped was enough. Not to mention they didn’t monitor the trespassers...those many syndicates that used this place as either a dump for bodies or execution grounds.

[41] They often sent people here to die. Terrible. But at least it served her well.

[42] She hunted these grounds too. But unlike those /revenants/ that dwelt here perpetually, life essence was not what she was after. Rather the ghosts left of the tragedy and those others that ended up trapped because of some malicious intent.

[43] Off to sniff them out then, before morning completely steals them from her. She also needed to be gone before those /other things/ pop up, that clicking sound and hiss a sign of their presence. But what she did not know was that she had not been alone for a while now.

[44] Actually, since she’d arrived, /someone/ began to watch her every move, assessing. She was a strange thing, coming into these badlands by herself.

“Quite brave...and very much unafraid,” /he/ concluded with an amused smile.

* * *

[45] She fanned her Ghost Blades then flung them out, the very thin weaponry burying with their gossamer chains into something unseen before she heard them wail, materializing, the form of the ghosts manifesting in the likeness of what they have been alive. Before that seemed to crumple, curling unto the area where they were pierced then slowly shrinking into an orb of red light.

[46] Psalterine pulled her Blades back. They ghost through her palms but fade instead, leaving nothing but the orbs. With this, phase one of her harvesting was complete.

[47] Consecration. That was among her special skills. It Included the transformation of something into another new entity. A feat they said impossible among Sah wielders but ordinary to her. And her twin, the Blood Wraith, or, as what he was otherwise known as, Eth Kiran Rubi - the Killan Red.

[48] /Ish-sha-ah/. The power that stems from one’s spiritual faculties, therefore, in essence, it should be called a holy power. There was even a religion that was founded upon it, and them, but she could care less. They can bend and wail up to the heavens for enlightenment all they wanted. They could do little to none about her situation anyway.

[49] Phase two then. Psalterine summoned to her Void Portals, these seeming black holes warping open to spit out bottles of several shapes and sizes. Their lids she popped open before drawing a red orb into one, sinking it into the makeshift containment unit with a prayer: “Ih cArate-se-con e”tEh.”

[50] Inside, the said orb churned, stirring to eventually become a dusty, red butterfly trapped within the bottle. Perfect. The colour was beautiful. She could now seal it and put it aside for later. She repeated the process.

[51] Each /Prayer Bottle/ done, she sinks into a Void Portal. She does so quite rapidly, like some factory production line, the first prayer enough for sealing this lot. One should see her when there were more ghosts in an area.

[52] She becomes this spider that hunts, consecrates then locks souls in, repeating the task so fast that she looked like she was dancing between the gossamer of her Soul Blades’ chains.

“Impressive,” a voice suddenly cut through her reverie.

[53] Instinctively, all her bottles automatically sunk into their Voids, with those that didn’t have souls in them yet dropping from above the still unsealed orbs to catch them before vanishing into their portals...

* * *

[54] Her immediate reaction was automatic really, flinging her Soul Blades out not aiming for this stranger that’s so silently crept up on her, but at the balcony floor above, shattering the posts neath that to crumble the whole thing down upon this unwelcome /intruder/.

[55] As she tossed herself backwards and over, speedily climbing up the rubble there in speed to reach the broken ruined battlements, whipping out her shades to cover her mismatched eyes.

Damn it. She had just taken off her contact lenses. She didn’t like people seeing her heterochromia.

[56] “Who the hell are you?”

[57] As the dust settled, she knew he had survived that, rather, seeing him split to three copies of himself that only slowly returned to become the one walking towards her, she knew what had happened. She could imagine how he had scattered as all that weight was pulled down by gravity upon him. That’s how he escaped.

[58] Guess he wasn’t so ordinary himself.

[59] “I didn’t want to be so rude. My name is Dopelle. And I rather wanted to make friends with you.”

Make friends. Is that a joke? She could clearly see what colour his aura was. It was /that/ shade.

[60] “I don’t want to be acquainted with people in conflict with the Bountries,” she straightened her stand but dropped a few Soul Blades out. “I don’t want anything to do with Death Gamers.”

That rather surprised him, the trace of shock evident on his wrapped face that quickly turned into a grin as he realized how right he was.

[61] “So then I need not hide it? Good. I can invite you formally then......to join us?”

[62] One could tell that despite her young appearance, she was well-versed with her Sah. But she might need convincing, as some of their previous members did.

“Tell that to /them/…” but she merely smirked instead.

[63] He hadn’t noticed. But the commotion had drawn in the No Faces of this district. He could hear their clicks and hissing down the corridor behind as he turned towards it. When he turned back up to her, she was no longer there.

[64] “Must have escaped through those portals she uses,” he mused, even as the monsters came digging through the rubble. Already, there were claws and long arms reaching out.

[65] He grinned. 

She was quite promising a prospect. But for now, he’ll have to settle convincing her some other time...


	3. Chapter 3

[1] She was sorting through her fanmail, yet her mind was not in the task, finding the earlier /incident/ abrasive enough that it still lingered in her mind. Death Gamers. They were in the city. Not like she did not know but for her to be ensconced by one right in the middle of her Consecrations? /That/ was too close.

[2] Who knew what else he saw or heard? Or maybe he’d seen everything? At least the spreading of rumours about her skills was the least of her concerns. She needed not worry of him tattling to any Bountry.

[3] Still, she must be cautious. Perhaps now she needed to find a new haunt? A better hunting ground maybe, just a bit far off from this city? Elsewhere a good distance free of these bastards. She doesn’t care. Getting there was not an issue. As long as no one knew her...

[4] That decided, it was back to the posts and all her social media stuff, at checking comments and some message requests. But then a certain related news article on the side caught Psalterine’s attention and distracted her yet again. It was about the Trade Off Season. Was it that time of the year again? How fast the turn of seasons that Killian was going to be on the forefront once more.

[5] She pulled her phone out of a Void Portal, its many straps, bells and attached trinkets jingling.

[6] There were but a few names on speed dial in her phonebook and one of them was /his/. But with how they haven’t spoken in a while, and how she hasn’t gone to see him in months, would the Blind Artist perhaps be mad at her?

[7] [ Hello? ]

Of course not. It wasn’t in his nature. Never towards her or even Killan Red.

“Hey Lian. It’s me.”

[ Ihea Psarteru! Tiea’si nAbe” osea gElonu. OwIh rea yula? ]

“I’m good and I want to see you.

“Can I come over?”

* * *

[8] The trip should take around two hours and thirty-five minutes from her city to /his/. Normally. If she were to take the common train, plane or airship. But she’d rather travel fast. She wanted to make time. Because unlike her, her brothers who were waiting for her there didn’t have the luxury of it.

[9] “Gifts...gifts…” she rummaged through her closet for a bit before she left. Because there had been an important occasion, she had cake and a few small things prepared just for them.

[10] Grabbing those, she then proceeded to sink into one of her Voids, the inky portal opening under her feet to allow her to travel through. Pretty nifty for storing the things she was bringing along too.

[11] The inside of her Voids were a dimension entirely /separate/ from reality. It was where time stood still, and where things were preserved, whatever object falling into its vastness getting stuck in suspended animation until she wants them divulged. Then their cycle would start again. No wonder she stores all her Prayer Bottles here. She need not worry of losing them.

[12] It was like space in a sense, within these Voids. It was never ending. It was likewise very much alive that she could sense it pulsing. And the best part was that it listens to her every request. When she needed something, it was just there without the waste for words. Well. Except for one downside. It never lets her take her brothers with her.

[13] They’ve tried. Countless times.

[14] But whenever her siblings attempt to step into her portals, the doors close. Repeatedly no matter what they do. Utterly frustrating that she cried about it just as much. When in the past she couldn’t take them to the freedom where she wanted them to be. With her. But she was not going to give up...

[15] Inside her Voids was a collective darkness, and a curious light that seemed to shine her way from a source unseen. Some kilometres off it (by estimate) was the edge of her territories with its eternal maelstrom, complete with lightning, hail, and other severely tumultuous conditions. She has never ventured that far. Somehow she believed that she won’t be able to return if ever she went to see what was there.

[16] Now, with regard to how she gets from one place to another via these portals, what's needed was to simply glide and float, her instincts attached to the feel of the Voids’ many dimensional holes that she knew exactly where each opened. Especially from within this pitch itself where she was weightless, rendered pretty much like that as the other things stored in it were, the connection was strong. Although she didn't know everything about it just yet.

[17] Curious to find a cemetery and a half ruined estate here with its many island-like areas. The trace of burned matter. And that patch of dead trees that have all desiccated here. She didn’t really know where they came from. She couldn’t recall anything related to this particular wonder.

[18] Enough of that however as she was drawing near her destination. One last grab of a broken tombstone where she’d tossed herself from, rocketing upwards and finding a translucent mirror-like surface along the path of her trajectory. Her exit. From which she emerged as if she’d been blown out of water, and onto a different place altogether, the city called Nun stretching before her mismatched eyes. She was here. Fifteen minutes in the portal was all it took.

* * *

[19] She dropped from a height and onto the very top of a building, its tower the highest point in this even bigger of a central metropolis. The winds here harsh but she could care less. It was a place where she had seen the truth. That there was so much more to the world than what she used to function in. This she found out the first time she stumbled upon this solitary space.

[20] All right then, time to go!

[21] She had two destinations from here: left or right, picking the easier route first and going with the former since that was closest. To get to Killian after all, she’d have to travel farther off towards the deserts. That likewise took up another stretch of time. Besides, she didn’t want to be found by the Community men that kept her unseeing brother. At this hour, they may still be up and about.

[22] With that, she took a leap over the side and did a swan dive, right into another Void that gaped to receive her. Two minutes tops and she had arrived, to the outer courts of Nun’s East Museum.

[23] Again, its iconic pillars were strewn with these yellow lines that say ‘Do Not Cross’, another clearer signage to one side stating how it was closed once more to the public for an indefinite time. There was a crime scene at its doors. Another murder has happened? If only they knew who was responsible.

[24] She /does/...but it wasn’t like she would tattle. It was certainly none of her business to meddle here. After all, the culprit would most likely have been her counterpart and twin. They respected their Consecration Territories. She had hers as this city was his. Within the building itself an exhibit for the Macabre. And within that said macabre there was /he/.

* * *

[25] It looked like they had shuffled the paintings and other haunted pieces around. But that was fine since what she was looking for had more or less already been fixed to the same spot by the curators. Why? Because it scares them, such notoriety and the anxiety accompanying it having good reason to exist.

[26] Well she had taken care of the cameras. They wouldn’t even know she was here. Though as she moved along its quiet corridors she half-expected to be disappointed. /He/ might not be there when she comes. And she was right when she didn’t find him at his usual.

[27] When she arrived to see /his/ huge portrait, it was empty, what remained of the accursed /Eth Kiran Rubi/ nothing but the velvet red and barbs, a backdrop that curiously moved as if it were alive.

It was.

[28] For this was where he resides, where he was trapped in, her only other relative and fellow Wraith.

[29] “Guess I wait,” she sighed, combing a hand through her raven head. There were moments when she'd asked why she kept taking these visits when /he/ often moved at his own pace and didn't give her much of a consideration.

[30] Then again the answer was simple. No matter how they’d end up arguing, /he/ was still her brother. And in a sense, she had love for him still.

[31] No choice then as she sat down leaned against the wall just at the base of the portrait, crossing her ankles and hugging her knees. She palmed out a ribboned box from one of her many gaping portals, pushing that to one side directly onto a spot that would be at /his/ feet, knowing well that Killan Red was never out for too long.

[32] She could tell.

[33] They had this connection too that she knows what he was feeling.

[34] And like she usually did, she was going to wait for him here even if they would end up not bothering on talk.

[35] This gesture should count right? It had also been his birthday and, she, unlike him, more or less has not forgotten...


	4. Chapter 4

[1] The world was in chaos. And while there was a ruling Society that should have kept matters peaceful, they didn’t seem to be doing a good job. Thus she had such negative reservations about the Bountry, among the first things that opened her eyes to it being a sham, that one day about three years ago, when she witnessed them massacre hapless migrants just because they couldn’t pay border taxes.

[2] People in the Bountry are prime examples of hoodlums in disguise, of monsters that, holding that much power in the world, deteriorated to become manslaughtering fiends in secret worse than demons.

[3] At least demons could be exorcised back from whence they came. The ones in this Society? They lingered to pollute humanity, but are not tried for their crimes just because there was always an excuse.

[4] How would they be brought to justice when what ran their whole system were corrupt, cutthroat individuals who wanted the position to themselves and did everything to keep it that way? Those she’s encountered from their ranks typically exploited others for gain.

[5] They were better dead; at least the departed returned to the earth.

[6] “They’re here again huh? It’s like seeing a wake of vultures around a dead carcass.”

[7] She always spotted Bountrymen in Nun whenever she visits. Particularly more during the Trade Off Season when these greedy bastards were here to soak up the atmosphere of the many lucrative auctions and market ventures.

[8] Wealth in exchange for greetings of glad tidings? The fakers. She trails a few of them sometimes, as they went about these tasks they dubbed as /missions/. Anything from espionage to guardianship to taking custody of a town or city to supposedly /rectify/ its collapsing state of affairs. They were like that. They got into everyone’s lives. Done for show while the shady business took place behind closed doors, uncontested.

[9] Just because /Sah/ originated from them, it made them the unchallenged peons dubbed as the Society of all Societies? No wonder the Death Gamers and the Legends disagreed. As did she who found nothing right and everything wrong about these people.

[10] Although... she would be a hypocrite if she didn’t admit that there was /at least/ one time she was impressed by a Bountryman. Even until now /he/ still has her respect. So maybe that alone doesn’t eliminate the possibility completely, that there were some in the Society who truly cared...or maybe that person was just the holy exception?

[11] A year ago.

She was following this group from that Society in their pursuit of illegal smugglers when she saw /him/, a doctor it seemed liked. He was patching up a group of bad guys who got badly shot. He even argued with his colleagues when they refused to spare their lives and could have left them for dead in that wilderness.

[12] Psalterine watched him for hours, unnoticed until she happened to let her presence slip and he turned her way. But the Wraith was gone like some figment of his imagination.

[13] ‘I might be tired. I’m seeing things…’ she heard him say as he continued on. While she stayed watching a few more minutes.

That guy had /those eyes/. They were a light shade and as clear as day...

* * *

[14] The time she spent at the museum was no different between her and the other Wraith. Her twin kept quiet while she told him about her day, the state of the world from where she lived and the small things she’s been typically doing. Sans the fact of Yill visiting that is, since her brother hated the assassin. Killan Red practically hated everyone. He was a being who admittedly cared only about two people, and that was them: Killian and her.

[15] At the moment, she’s already left his side, heading towards the desert outskirts of the city, her Void traveling like this large blotch on the land surface at incredible speeds. Normally, no one ventures this far. It was the most dangerous side of town with the next city taking several days to reach, not a water source in sight nor the trace of civilization. Nothing lived in this arid region.

[16] It was surrounded by very steep cliffs and endless rocky terrain, crumbling crags rising like so many spires, building this labyrinth in several areas of the location. There were also pits, sand holes and peril, no one trail the proper trail to get in or out of Nun through here. There was always a trap, and the presence of Monsters that devoured men in an instant.

[17] No wonder people prefer to come into the rich city by boat, or via airships whose service were plenty in Nun. There was one train, but it was exclusively for the use of the wealthy. And the public bus line took a very far route. It was the most tiring way in; also the most congested.

Yet why was she here?

[18] The reason was completely simple. It was because Nun likewise kept a very important treasure here. In a patch of land which was the /only/ green section within this entire dead zone. Hidden within a small forest isolated in the arcing grips of a soaring set of rock faces.

[19] There stood the Manor.

[20] And in that house was her other brother, Killian.

* * *

[21] The Lone Estate. In the only area in this whole arid region that showed signs of life. It was where another Society she loathed, the Community of Nun, kept /him/, the Blind Artist named Killian, their /other/ twin.

[22] Easy to see why they did so. In this sort of place, there was no painless means for anyone to come and see him without consent or assistance. A deterrent for collectors that wanted to get their hands on her brother’s famous artworks called the Lians. At least not until they were put up for bidding in the Trade Off, when Killian was likewise moved from here to his Private Floor in the heart of Nun’s Financial District.

[23] It was for safety’s sake, they say. But it only meant that he could never leave as well. Despite sugar-coating the scenario, the Community generous with gifts and rewards for her brother, that didn't mask the fact that they were keeping him like a prisoner in this lonely place.

[24] Reason enough for her to always find ways. She crossed the distance and visited him regularly, letting Killan Red know about his status too. Not being able to do this simple liaison task between them would probably drive her crazy! So she puts all her heart into it every time.

[25] “Kirian?” the Soul Wraith was quiet, poking a head through one of her Void Portals and peeking in upside-down that her hair was draping, having opened an entrance for herself up the ceiling of the largest room in the Manor before she flipped out of it, whipping her emboldened tresses into place and making her appearance more presentable. Even if he couldn't see it, she always dressed up for him.

[26] Just as silently then from where she’d landed gracefully on the carpet, she approached the four-poster. Was he asleep? It seems she’s arrived later than she’d anticipated despite her haste. It appeared dark out already.

[27] Psalterine looked down upon her brother’s face. She could see it even with the lack of light. He looked just like Killan Red, with very long and very pale blond hair. Unlike hers that was utterly a raven’s. They only matched in length.

[28] It saddened her sometimes, to be the odd one of them three. But then didn’t Killian here always said that no matter, she’s still his most favourite sister?

[29] ‘Silly,’ the Soul Wraith would giggle when they were younger. ‘I’m your only sister, you know?’

[30] She sat on the floor, crossing her arms on the bed nearest his pillow and resting her cheek against the softness. She often stared at him like this, and thought him so beautiful, not only because of his physical appearance, he had such a huge heart. He was too kind to everyone, which was why the Community of Nun took advantage of him in her opinion.

[31] “Well, I wanted to talk to you actually, tAbu Ih ehavu otea tEwaiu huh?” she whispered with a sigh, closing her mismatched eyes. She wanted to hear his voice. She wanted them to share stories. She wanted to make him /see/ her world.

[32] At least, she had time to spend with him.

* * *

[33] The Lone Estate had another resident. Her name was Nicaline, Killian’s vivacious caretaker. Someone who understood the /secrets/ of the Blind Artist but does not really tell the Community about it. Whether it was due to fear of the murderous Kiran Rubi or if she was genuinely on their side regarding her brother, Psalterine didn’t really care. Just as long as she served to be her eyes and ears here.

[34] “Is he sick again?” the Wraith asked when she found the older woman down the corridor.  
Nicaline nodded. “A slight fever,” she said, the two of them having always known Killian was of very poor health.

[35] Psalterine didn’t push it further. “Just make sure he’s comfortable,” said the Wraith. That after all was part of Nicaline's responsibilities.

[36] “I’m sure you’ve heard of the Trade Off? That’s why you’ve visited ahead of schedule right?” inquired the pink-haired bombshell

“Not really. Isn’t it the same every year?”

“I know but maybe you’d want to attend it again this year?”

[37] Psalterine gave it thought. Frankly, it was a waste of time. She knew Killian will never leave Nun because of Kiran Rubi and she didn’t want to leave without her brothers.

She shrugged. “I’ll come pick up the invite if I feel like it. Leave it for me in Killian’s room.”

[38] Nicaline understood. She nodded, hugging herself. The rest of the house had always been so cold. Since Killian couldn’t see, lighting the whole place wasn’t really a necessity. It was just them two most of the time anyway.

[39] What use was it when she always stayed beside the Blind Artist? The caretaker didn’t want him alone in case he needed something. She also didn’t want to be by herself in this place. Curse the people who put her here since her youth. She and her charge were both its captives.

[40] “By the way, I left a present for my brother on his bedside table. Make sure he gets it? And he eats the cake?” Psalterine broke a moment’s silence that passed between them. “You can have some of it too...”

[41] The caretaker smiled hearing that; at least as a consolation, there was someone who visits them here from time to time during the Off-Season. She rather fancied the bond these siblings shared. It was heartbreaking yet too determined to not be amazed about.

Unlike her family.

They sold her to the Community as a spoil of the previous societal war.

[42] She invited the Wraith to tea, knowing that she’d wait until Lian could wake up. Might as well keep each other company: “He’ll be thrilled. And my belated greetings to you too, and Killan Red, Psalterine.”

* * *

[43] ‘ Someday, there’s going to be life without any attachments. Especially the very dangerous one, the kind that monopolized people, where you just have to stay because there was no choice.’  
This was what she was thinking, leaving the house, noting the cars that had come at the break of dawn while she lingered a bit more but outside the Lone Estate this time.

[44] Killian had not awakened, thus, seeing these Community men come out to check up on their treasure with the doctor Nicaline called in, she had to discreetly excuse herself. Being found out would make things difficult for her. Who knows what may happen to their twin?

[45] “Dicks,” she frowned, mismatched eyes glaring. It was this seclusion that’s killing her brother, she knew. A slow and painful death he suffers and continues to wallow in.

[46] That pissed her off, but what could she do? It was as if they were cursed to not be together. She could only hope to find a way, and end this separation so that they could leave finally.

[47] For now, she held onto a promise. Someday, she’ll take Killian away from all of this. She’ll take both her siblings with her into the known wideness of the world she travels in.

She wanted them to see it, experience it, thrive in it. What an adventure that would be...

“One day someday,” she swore. “We’ll get out of here…”


	5. Chapter 5

[1] It could have been a very boring day. If not for news of disaster breaking the quiet of her sleepy little city. In an area called Sanafreya in the Southwestern outskirts, there was now a small war going on. Between the local government unit and possibly one or two Death-Gaming Societies.

[2] She knew it would come some time soon, one way or another, watching the persistent public advisories flash on the tele and online. It was deemed unsafe, a group of Bountrymen already called in to assist in ‘neutralizing’ these bastards. But had they ever succeeded? It always ended up in a draw with these encounters.

[3] She remembered history, of the longest battle between them from the Ruling Society and these Gamers, taking five days total with an unaccountable loss on both sides. It can get very bloody. There would be casualties.

A good thing for her maybe.

Death meant ghosts and they were what she needed.

[4] It was decided then. She was merely going to monitor the situation for now as the quarrel escalated in that area. Then maybe later on, once they’re somewhat done and the massacre that would certainly abound settled to leave its vestiges, she’ll come in to Harvest.

[5] It could be /that guy’s/ Society who was in contention with the authorities there at the moment. She didn’t want to get caught in their tide. She’s also promised to stay away from them after all.

* * *

[6] Seven breakouts in the last twenty-four hours, five dead on the side of the Carpacuchi Death Gamers but none from theirs. Just an injury. Could have been worse but the crisis was averted thanks to their lead’s cunning. Even if the local government had thrown themselves into the fray and news of Bountry was evident, no one was going to stop them.

[7] Revertere. Currently the most notorious and strongest Death-Gaming Society in the world. It had been fairly old, its roots native of certain tribes that had banded together when Sah was discovered. Yet because its group had changed leadership more than twelve times within the last three decades, shuffling members as well, it couldn’t qualify as a Mythical Society or Legend like the Gothvrieds or the Swashains Families.

[8] It could only be labeled as /Death Gamer/ then, since the group had began mercenary missions then later on moved to crimes against humanity en masse. The current head was their most ruthless, perhaps the most cruel of all generations past.

[9] “No Bountry?” his name is yet unknown to the Ruling Society, but he was already infamous, young and ambitious, had always pushed his members to do more than they were already capable of.

[10] “Nothing,” said Dopelle, looking at the horizon where their rival Gamers at the moment were playing with the local authorities. Some of their members were there too, in the process of winning this round of the battle. “Looks like we’ll conclude this before those shits arrive.”

[11] Their Lead was not satisfied. They had pulled a heist, taken on a bet and now where in a clash with the Carpacuchi, but this seemed inadequate. He wanted something more.

[12] “How are things doing with intercepting the Community’s Greatest Treasure?” he asked his friend and member.

[13] “No news yet. But we’ll get there.”

Another unsatisfying return. He wanted to have his hands on that treasure so badly, mostly because other Death Gamers were crawling into his quarry and he didn’t like it. Dopelle knew, and likewise was aware as to what would cheer him up.

[14] “Hey Boss, guess what? I met a possible candidate to ask to our Society,” said the Mimic, to which their Lead had turned to, immediately interested. Something exploded in the background, most likely caused by one of theirs.

“I’m listening…”

* * *

[15] She timed her insert as the song was about to end, playing some background music to set the mood while she moved to her spiel, engaging her audience with her lines: “Welcome back to Zero-713, ‘Your music authority in the Metro’. This is your Good Bad Girl Tylie for your Thursday craving of Midnight Murmurings. Tonight’s topic? Death Gamers…”

[16] It was unavoidable. Since the last couple days had been fraught with the presence of them and so close to home at that, her manager specifically requested her to hop onto the bandwagon. Many did express their sentiments about the situation, some more openly than most, including the followers of her hit talk show program on air.

[17] She read off their official social media pages: “Hey Good Bad Girl! Great topic! I personally think Death Gamers are amusing. Just don’t want to be so close to them when they play.”

[18] The grim and gory were always a trend in these recent years, and the presence of these anti-Ruling Class Societies inspired its own fandom and following somehow. There was always sympathy for the bad boys that defied the law with so many fanatics supporting them sometimes even. That was how degraded certain individuals could be. To see this as entertainment.

[19] Though she won’t pretend to be a puritan either. She did benefit from these deaths no matter where you looked at it.

[20] “...well I wouldn’t freal mind seeing them clash,” Psaltering said in response, scrolling up the chat box to see any other interesting comment she can next read out. “But do you guys know what would be even more interesting? To see them clash in a proper arena.

[21] “Then we can tell who really holds the supremacy among these Gamers. Maybe they can take on the toughest of the Bountry too-”

That was actually something that she’d like to see. More than anything, just for the heck of it.

* * *

[22] End of Shift. Psalterine stretched her arms out into the cool of the morning, enjoying the cold that came before dawn as she left the radio station. Her next destination before hitting the hay was Sanafreya, where the battle had already been cleared, those Death Gamers gone to take their contest elsewhere and leaving her city in relative peace for now.

[23] It was about time to harvest its ghosts, her body crawling with the need to Consecrate. Although it wasn’t that painful yet and she could bear it. She at least had a couple days more to give in, but why wait? She was thinking of getting it over with as she checked her phone for messages.

[24] As a matter of habit she doesn’t peek into personal emails or texts while at work, and spares a few minutes along the way going home to do that instead. Which often meant messages reached her late, like the one she’s scrolled to now, coming from her man, Yill Gothvried. He was in the city and was inviting her out.

[25] Yet this was such an...uncommon and coincidental address where he wanted to meet her at. It turned out to be one of those places she'd earlier talked to her listeners about? One of such infamy for that matter.

|| Wear a dress. || he had told her. || I’ll be there by 3 AM. ||

* * *

[26] She picked a very stunning little black dress to wear to their meeting, rising up from her Portal onto this blind alley closest that hidden door, knocking on it twice before the valet on the other side answered via an intercom.

She hid her eyes behind a light hat with this one-sided veil.

[27] “I’m here by invitation from Yill Gothvried.”

Your codename?”

“His Butterfly,” she stated.

[28] The information needed to be verified, but the way it happened was fast enough that she was let in after a minute, the rundown facade giving way to a hidden interior of luscious art and luxury, of a grand staircase heading downwards into the underbelly of the city itself.

“Welcome to Pastille-” that was the greeting of the well-dressed staff.

[29] This place she was getting into, it was a socialite’s club underground and might be one of the most infamous joints for the rich in this city. She’s been here a few times, sneaking in through her own means. Thrice now she’s been invited by her boyfriend, who was a patron of the place since it started.

[30] But where was he, her gentleman Death? As she gracefully traced her path upon the expensive carpet.

She was noticeable, and extremely standing out, a fragile thing that men would want to protect.

[31] Yet before others could approach her, before another tall, dark and handsome rogue asked her away, a being of rather imposing and quite aristocratic stride had put his hands upon her shoulders, bending down to her shorter form to kiss her hair.

[32] “Mavourneen,” she heard him say, and that made her smile.

“Yill,” and when she turned, lo, he was there, dressed in this killer ensemble of black, hair swept to a side.

The other males had no battle with his machismo, and clearly she was his, as he took her hand to carry by the crook of his arm.

[33] “You look absolutely perfect,” he continued to whisper, leading them both to the gallery and lower, to a balcony he’d privately reserved, slipping a dark-petaled flower into her coiffure of locks as he sat her down the plush of a chair.

[34] Before them, was an amphitheatre, the known Bloody Pastille which was the sweet name’s irony. This place was actually an arena. It was several floors down. And in it were housed sklaves who pit themselves against each other in fatal feats of strength.

[35] This was where the Gothvrieds purchased their next set of guards whenever their home was in short supply. Which was what made Yill such a local celebrity among Pastille’s array of classy customers. They whisper his name in the many clustered rooms, aware whenever he was around.

[36] Not only to the high ranks but also the sklaves themselves as well, her man was known. Because depending on the performance they dealt to the Family once purchased from the arena, prisoners doomed for an existence of servitude, might actually be set free. These unlikely gladiators’ chance to freedom so they must do well when /he/ was here.

[37] Let it not be said that the Legends, just because they were so untouchable, were likewise /that/ cruel. He even went as far as falling in love didn't he?

[38] “Osea, wAne esavEsIl?”

“Ih’maea yAsor”u,” Yill apologized, taking her hand and kissing it gently, giving this ornate bell a light ring to call for their personal waiters. “This will take a moment, beloved,” he promised.

[39] If all else, as he looked at his petite flower, he was actually getting impatient. But as the head of his own Society, he had duties.

Psalterine of course understood.

[40] But she was not past teasing him tonight. He’ll just have to stay /focused/, she smiled meaningfully. Now how hard can /that/ be?

* * *

[41] It was the afternoon later that day. Not strangely enough, she had awakened in a luxury hotel room; even more normal was that she was naked, now lounging on top the form of her man, their limbs tangled as she was observing him, anatomizing his face in sleep.

[42] He ruined her plans to harvest souls. Like he always did sometimes whenever he gets the chance to take her /home/. When passions normally arose with the presence of each other. Also right when she was itching to do something else.

[43] However she had some blame to take too. She might have gone a little too far earlier. But why not when this man has always had a certain allure? She can’t help but be mesmerized by his personality, and his eyes.

[45] “You make yourself so vulnerable sometimes…” she laid a cheek on her arm, watching the crawling light of day shift upon his gorgeous face. “Devious fiend.

“I can even kill you if I could,” she whispered.

[46] She didn’t mean that however, closing her eyes to bask in the afterglow of the moment. Breast to chest, skin to skin, she felt his warmth. More so when he unconsciously moved an arm to enfold her gently, letting out a contented sigh.

[47] If only the world could be reduced to this, maybe, she’d finally believe that the feeling alone was enough. It never was. Although at this hour, she was fine with leaving her other concerns to be dealt with another day...


End file.
